Sometimes You Listen, But You Just Don't Hear
by supernaturaldh
Summary: Arguing with his father, the youngest Winchester is forced to go on a hunt without Dean. A stray gunshot and things quickly spiral out of control. Hurt Sam, Big Brother Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: ** "See that attitude right there, that's why I always got the extra cookie."

Arguing with his father, the youngest Winchester is forced to go on a hunt without Dean, and things quickly spiral out of control.

A hurt Sam, big brother Dean Story.

**Setting:** 14 year old Sam; 18 year old Dean

**Beta** : Kokoda2007 – Super job, as always!! Unfortunately, mistakes are my own.

**Disclaimer:** As always, I don't own them, but wished I did.

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 1**

**Caught in the Middle**

"SAMUEL…I said NO, and no is what I meant." John Winchester blared across the kitchen table to his 14 year old son. He dragged his hand through his short black hair and sucked in a weary breathe. _He was so tired of arguing with his boy. What was it with the kid? Why couldn't he be more like his big brother? He didn't think Sam was going to outgrow puberty, 'cause if he kept this up, he was gon'na kill him first._

"But Dad, it's important, I have to go. I wo…."

"No, Sam. I told you already. You are not going to any open house for school, not tomorrow night." John spat.

Sam's fork banged harshly against his plate as he flung it down with excessive force giving his father a giant eye roll with the motion. He pushed angrily against the table and stood up on his long gangly legs.

"Set your ass back down, right now, and finish your damn dinner." John glared at his youngest, daring him to defy.

Eighteen year old Dean sat across the table watching the encounter and grimaced. _He was used to this; it was a daily occurrence in his dysfunctional family, ever since Sam became a teenager. _ He twirled the spaghetti around his fork, stuffing it overeagerly in his mouth to keep from making a comment.

Sam flopped back down in the chair, angry tears just beneath his eyelids, his face contorting up in an unhappy frown. He pushed his dinner around on his plate, no longer hungry. _He just wanted to go to the Middle School Open House. If his Dad would only listen to him, he had won a writing award…he just wanted to be there to collect it, to make his dad proud….why was that always so hard? _

Silence settled over the room as Dean and John ate their dinner and Sam sulked.

Dean eyed his brother; Sam's face a mass of anger and disappointment.

John mulled over his next words very carefully not wanting world war three to break out with his youngest. He was too tired to deal with his despairing teenager tonight. He had only been home about an hour; a hunt for a Jack-a-Lope in Kentucky keeping him up the last two nights. His only desire right now, to plant himself on the couch with a cold beer. He knew he and Sam would be leaving early tomorrow for another hunt. He eyeballed his youngest sternly.

"Sam, you have to go with me on the hunt - this weekend, we leave in the morning and it is not up for discussion."

"But DAD!" Sam refused to concede the point, his voice rising to a high pitched whine. "I don't want to go…if you would just listen to me..."

"Sam, we are not having this conversation again. You are going with me and that's final."

John Winchester pushed back in his seat, tired bloodshot eyes glaring at Sam.

"But DAD…" Sam stammered, pleadingly looking at Dean for help.

Dean looked down at the table top, torn between the need to help his brother and the desire to obey his father's stern words.

"Go to your room…." John snapped.

"I hate you." Sam hissed as he pushed up from the chair so hard that it tittered and fell over with a thud to the floor.

"You are still not too damn big to put your butt over my knee, young man."

John's voice quivered as he attempted to hold his anger at bay. He leaned down and grabbed up the chair and sat it upright, heatedly watching his youngest bound from the kitchen.

Sam huffed loudly and stomped from the room, not sure whether John meant his words or not, but really not wanting to find out.

"DON"T YOU SLAM THAT DOOR…." John threatened loudly.

Too late, Dean thought. The bedroom door banged with a loud thud that shook the tiny rental.

John heaved out a weary sigh, pushing the rest of his uneaten meal aside as he rose from the table, wrenched open the refrigerator and yanked out a beer.

Dean reached across the table and grabbed the half eaten plate of food, heading toward the trash. He deposited the dirty dishes in the sink and wearily followed his infuriated father to the living room.

John sat stiffly down on the ratty couch, face set in an angry scowl, head leaning slowly back against the cushions, his throat releasing a loud sigh.

Dean leaned against the door jam, arms crossing his chest, piercing blue eyes staring at his father.

"Dad, I could help you with the hunt this weekend." He offered. "Caleb doesn't really need me on that other job."

John gulped down a swig of beer, and looked forlornly at Dean.

"No Dean. Sammy has to learn these skills himself. He can't always rely on you…or me. Sam is not five, and it's time he pulled his own weight around here."

"I know, but he…he just wants to do what the other kids do…have fun. This seems to be very important to him." Dean's eyes silently implored his dad to give in.

John looked thoughtfully at his eldest. _Why Sam couldn't be more like Dean, a good soldier, who did what he was told…. _

"Your brother…he wears me down sometimes…." John let out a frustrated breath.

Dean could see hesitation on his father's face, a fleeting moment when he might reconsider his decision, but then, it quickly vanished, stern military glare falling back into place.

"No", John scolded gruffly and pushed the beer back to his lips. _No son of his was telling him what to do. He was the parent here. End of discussion. _

Dean sighed and nodded in concession. He pushed off the door jam, slowly moving toward the bedroom, and his little brother. His father and brother did not communicate, and his Dad didn't seem to understand Sam at all. _And why was this weekend so important to Sam? _

**-o- **

Dean's eyes spanned across the dimly lit bedroom as he slowly pushed the creaky door open. His little brother was huddled on his twin bed, face smashed harshly into a pillow. He recognized the light hiccups of air, and knew Sammy was crying.

Dean didn't know what he hated the most, the fact his father didn't listen and always gave Sam a hard time, or that Sam took everything personally, and was very verbal in expressing his dissatisfaction with their life. Mostly he hated that neither of them gave any thought to his plight, and what their constant bickering and arguing did to him. _It just wasn't fair that he was always stuck in the middle of the John and Sam Show._

"Sammy?" The twin bed sunk as Dean eased down next to his brother; his fingers gently gripping Sam's shoulder.

Sam tugged away from the hold, his head lifting slightly from the pillow case, bright hazel orbs blinking up at Dean.

"You could have helped me." He vented. The angry glare gone from his face, replaced with one of resignation.

Dean shook his head slightly, "Sam, I can't always get in the middle of you and Dad."

Sam looked disappointedly at his older brother and pushed up to sit next to him on the messy bed. He brought his shirtsleeve up and scrapped it across his face, wiping away the remnants of tears.

"I just wish he would listen to me sometimes. It was important." Sam muttered, "That's all."

The brother's sat in silence until Dean finally ventured to ask, "What was so important?"

Sam's eyes squinted to angry slits as he stared at his brother, "What do you care, it wasn't important enough to take up for me, so it's not important now."

Sam stood, and stomped toward the bathroom, "I'm taking a shower."

Dean sat stoically on the bed, wishing he had pushed harder to get his Dad to relent and let Sam stay home. He hated when his little brother was mad at him, especially because of his Dad.

**-o- **

The sun had yet to rise when Dean woke Sam, nudging him gently against his side as he spoke.

"Sammy, wake up. Dad said you needed to be ready in ten."

Sam huffed and covered his head with the pillow, hiding completely in the large mound of blankets.

"It's too early," the fourteen year old mumbled.

Dean grinned as he stuffed his overnight gear into his duffle bag and flung it over his shoulder.

"You better get up man, Dad will not be happy if he has to come up after you."

"Whatever…" Sam flung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, clinched fists rubbing the sleep from his crusty eyelids.

Dean smiled. _The kid looked so damn young when he did that. _

"Caleb's here, so I'm going. You gon'na be okay…with Dad?" Dean asked earnestly.

"Oh yeah, we'll have a blast."

"I got my cell, you call me if you need to talk." Dean grinned.

He punched Sammy on the arm and made his way toward the door. He turned and gave Sam one last glance. He watched as his uncoordinated, gangly limbed brother slumped back sleepily to the mattress, knees curling up against it.

"SAM, get up, NOW." He said in his best, 'don't make me kick your ass' voice.

Sam complied, rolling off the covers and standing to his full height. He blinked owlish eyes at his big brother.

"I'm up…I'm up."

Dean smirked as he made his way out the front door to Caleb's truck. _Something wasn't right about this…the little brother that was as tall as the big brother._

"Hey Dean," Caleb smiled as he tugged the driver's door open to ease back in the front seat. "See you on Sunday, John."

John nodded at Caleb, face glancing around past Dean. "Where's Sam?" He asked gruffly.

"He's coming," Dean advised, not liking the tired face; the dark shadow that fell across his father's face.

The passenger door slammed shut as the white Ford truck backed slowly around in the front yard, Dean's eyes gazing out to watch for his brother.

Sam appeared, disheveled, and dragging his backpack over his shoulder, as he ambled slowly out the front door.

Dean grimaced as he heard his father verbally calling Sam out across the hood of the Impala. "Get your ass in gear son, daylights burning."

Sam heaved out a weary breath, and Dean knew the kid was in for a long weekend.

"God, you're Dad is always an ass to Sam." Caleb offered, as he shifted the truck into gear, shaking his head in a disgusted motion.

Dean mentally flinched at his friend's words, so it wasn't just him that saw that in his father. He wished wholeheartedly that he was going on this hunt with Sam.

**-o-**

**Okay- Limp Sam is on the way. Not to worry, Dean is not out of the picture, as Sam will need him to deal with Dad, of this we can rest assured. I wanted this to be a one shot, but it got away from me. Thanks for reading and reviewing. –supernaturaldh-**

11


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes you Listen, but you don't Hear

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 2**

**Road to Silence**

Sam kept his eyes staring out the front windshield, intentionally avoiding his father's glare. His arms were folded neatly across his lap, his fingers fiddling unconsciously with the strap of his backpack. The hum of the Impala's engine was a low rumble mingling with the sound of their steady breathing. They had road in silence since leaving on the hunt. Sam struggled for something to say, but nothing came to mind, nothing his Dad would be interested in hearing anyway. _Why couldn't he talk to his dad anymore? _ He shuffled down into the worn leather, remembering a time would he could converse with his father, about everything. But now - he didn't know what had happened? He glanced sideways at his Dad. He guessed it didn't matter anyway; John was obviously too lost in his own thoughts to care.

Dean squirmed uneasily in the front seat of Caleb's truck, fingers tumbling out a rhythm loudly against the door. _Something about this entire weekend was making him very uncomfortable._ He didn't like his father's harsh words to Sammy in the wee hours of the morning. He didn't like it that his Dad and brother were not speaking, but arguing, twenty four seven. He was worried that their constant bickering. His mind ran over the conversation he had with Sam the night before, the fact that the kid had some reason for wanting to stay home this weekend, and wishing he knew what it was. But neither he, nor his Dad, had ever gotten a straight answer from the youngest Winchester. Sam never divulging his intentions, but Dean had noticed the argument with John, and the harsh words that passed between them, had taken the spirit right out of his little brother. Sam had clammed up completely when he realized he would not be able to convince his father to change his mind. _Damn, if his brother wasn't as hard headed as his dad when it came to standing his ground._ The whole thing just pissed Dean off. He moved uncomfortably around in the seat, huffed loudly, and tugged his hand abruptly through his cropped hair.

"Holy crap, Dean, would you set still …." Caleb muttered as he glared across the front seat. "What is your deal dude?"

Dean shrugged, head turning toward his 25 year old hunter and friend, anxiety riddling his face. "I just don't understand why Dad and Sam can't seem to get along anymore. It's like a never ending battle." He sighed wearily.

"Sam's a teenager, Dean, what do you expect. Hell, he is John made over, don't you see that?"

"Yeah, I see it. They are just alike, though neither one will admit it." Dean snickered and nodded his head in agreement. "You're right; they are both hard headed as hell."

"John said they were hunting a Googol outside of Murfreesboro Arkansas. That should be an easy hunt for Sam." Caleb smiled.

"Yeah, long as the goofy looking Googol doesn't knock you down, or pounce on you; it's a piece of cake. Shoot um with some consecrated rounds and they're history."

Both young hunters laughed, Dean's mirth ebbing down to nothing as he mumbled, "If they don't kill each other first."

"Don't worry so much Dean. They'll be fine." Caleb tried to sound sincere in his statement, knowing full well Dean was right to worry; teenage Sam and grumpy John Winchester were a volatile combination.

-o-

The Impala veered off the dirt road to pull into a large clump of trees, John parking beneath the cover in some shade. It had been a long ride from their motel, just outside of Memphis, to the hunt; a long, quiet ride. He gave his teenage son a cockeyed smirk as he pushed open the driver's door.

"Come on Sammy boy, time to hunt your first Googol." He grinned, making a genuine gesture to be civil to his youngest.

Sam rotated his eyes away from his dad and clamored his long legs out of the passenger seat, zipping up his jacket, a scowl resting against his face. _Big freak in' deal. _He glanced down at his wrist watch. _ It was going to be a long afternoon. _ _This really sucked out loud. _He scuffed his sneakers against the dirt, stirring up excessive dust, as he grabbed up his backpack and moved listlessly to the trunk to get his gear.

John Winchester stared at his youngest. _This kid was unbelievable, never happy about a damn thing. _He hastily opened the trunk and slammed a shotgun and consecrated rounds into Sam's fingers. _He would never understand the kids desire to be pissed at him all the damn time._

"Get a move on Sammy," he ordered.

Sam grasped the ammo, and loaded the firearm. He pushed the backpack open against his shoulder, stuffing the extra rounds in with his bottle of water, a granola bar, and hoodie.

"What you got in that backpack Sam? Leave your phone in the car, it's distracting." John said pointedly. "Hey, you ain't carrying no damn book are you, planning on reading instead of concentrating on the hunt?" John barked in annoyance.

"No…," Sam whispered with exasperation. He rolled his eyes taking in his father's frustrated face. "No sir," he stuttered.

John's eyes narrowed and his hand yanked the pack from Sam's shoulder, peering inside. Satisfied that no books had taken up residence, he shoved the carryall back in Sam's grasp and slammed the trunk closed. _He was almost wishing he had given in to Dean and let Sammy's ass stay home. _He gulped in air, and attempted to reign in his anger. _He was just tired_, _and Sam was a typical teenager._

"Okay, son," John satisfied with his sudden revelation, "you ready to hunt this Googol?"

-o-

Sam followed his father's silent footfalls into the woods, the sun high in the sky. His body stumbled along as he caught his oversized feet on every root and rock that nestled against the ground.

John's eyes flitted to his youngest as he tripped gangly limbed next to him. A smirk curled up on the elder hunters lips. _Sammy was definitely right in the middle of the awkward puberty years, all limbs and attitude. _He smiled.

Sam could feel his father's gaze resting against him and he cocked his head over to the side to see an amusing grin sliding across his Dad's face.

"What?" he said, questioning eyes staring at John.

"Nothing…son, nothing….you're…you're just all legs and elbows." His Dad offered with a slight snort.

Sam suddenly felt a familiar feeling waft across him and a smile begin to curl up on his lips. _Maybe his Dad wasn't so bad after all, and he did have a point. Dean told him that all the time; it was just a phase; he would grow out of. _He watched as bright green eyes gleamed at him and a large smirk rolled to his face.

"You take the lead kiddo." John nudged his temperamental teenager, moving him forward with his elbow.

-o-

"Well, this just sucks." Dean moaned as he heaved a shovel full of dirt back into the large whole he and Caleb had just dug.

"Yeah, I don't know how I got this wrong? I know this was supposed to be the bones of Howard Tripp, right here." The young hunter nodded at the headstone.

Dean shrugged, "Obviously not," he mused, "Just cause it says', don't make it so."

"No shit." Caleb responded into the darkness. "Let's just get this dirt back in the hole and get the hell out of here."

"Guess this was a bust." Dean groused.

**-o-**

John looked seriously at his youngest, down at the compass, and then back around the woodland.

"Okay, this is the spot, right around here, where the Googol was seen last."

"Who saw it?" Sam asked inquisitively.

"Some kids from town; said it was huge, fuzzy. Of course they all ran away." John's eyebrows rose. "Okay, you ready to do this?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay stay here, I'm heading back down over there in the trees," John's finger pointed. "If you see it, shoot."

The youngest Winchester leaned his long body up against a tree, gun clutched against his chest. He watched as his father headed slowly back down the ridge and disappeared into the brushy tree line. He sighed and tugged out his cell phone, quickly text messaging his older brother.

HOW IS THE HUNT GOING

He waited patiently, eyes watching the screen.

A BUST ON TH WAY BAK NOWW YOU

Sam giggled to himself. Dean couldn't spell shit.

STILL HERE IN THE WOODS WITH DAD

CALL ME WHN U R DNE D

Sam smacked his phone shut and stuffed it back in his coat pocket.

He jerked abruptly when he heard a gun shot echo through the woods. The noise blazed loudly and his wide eyes darted back down toward the direction his father had gone. _Oh shit. _He stood stock still, eyes attempting to focus through the dimming light, down through the distant brush and trees. He listened, head turned to the side, waiting for any sign of his Dad or the damn Googol. The second gunshot sent him running, sneakers skidding down the hillside toward his father's last known location.

-o-

The cool breeze whipped around John's face as he crouched in the brambles and bush at the bottom of the hill. His shotgun lay comfortably across his thighs. He could no longer see Sam, but knew his youngest was right where he should be. _Sam was a lot of things, but he would never disobey an order in the middle of a hunt._

The rustling of the leaves around him made the oldest hunter squint in the dimly lit air. _Time for the Googol to make an appearance. _He tugged his gun up and slowly stood to his full 6'3" height, eyes spanning the area. His breath was hesitant as he made out the image of the giant creature that loomed in front of him. _Hoy shit! This was no damn Googol. This was a Bearwalker. What the hell, how had he got that wrong? _

The large hairy creature stared beady eyes at him as he tugged his shotgun quickly up to his shoulder and took precise aim, the shot blaring loudly as the large animal lunged toward him. He stumbled backwards, gun firing absently in the creature's general direction. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He felt the large paw like appendage connected with his shoulder as his finger twitched one more time against the trigger, finger tugging it back as the pain radiate down his neck and shoulder. The gun flew from his hands as he was slammed against the tree beside him. His last conscious thought, _Oh, God, where was Sam? _

Sam's legs were running, his chest heaving, as he made his way down the hill faster than he thought imaginable. _He had to help his Dad._ He suddenly lurched backwards, sucking in a rapid breath as a sharp pain flared across his stomach. _What the hell? _ He blew out a painful sigh as his legs wavered beneath him, his eyes fixed on the large creature that was loping slowly away from his Dad's still body. _Dad?_ He struggled to regain his footing as a white hot pain burned across his body and his vision blurred. He blinked. _He had to get to his Dad._ His legs gave way mid motion as his body slammed uncoordinatedly forward to the ground and the oblivion overtook him.

10


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes you Listen, but you don't Hear

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 3**

**Spinning out of Control**

Dean snickered to himself as he thought about his little brother. _Poor sucker, stuck in the middle of now where with their Dad. _The sun had sunk beneath the tree line an hour back, as he and Caleb made their way out of the cemetery. _He didn't think Caleb was too happy, since his big ole hunt had gone bust. _He eyed his buddy with a sideways glance, abruptly biting his tongue to keep from spouting off some smart ass remark.

"Shut up Dean." Caleb said sarcastically.

"What….me….I didn't say anything." Dean offered up with his most innocent smile.

"Yeah…yeah, whatever."

The truck barreled forward down the Arkansas highway, back toward Memphis and the Winchesters ratty little rental.

-o-

Sam's first coherent thought was that dirt and leaves were smashed against his face. He blinked slowly, attempting to bring himself back to awareness. _Where was he?_ He pushed his body sluggishly upwards, the movement taking his breath away, and he flopped boneless to his back. The jarring motion radiated a pain across his middle and he sucked in some air, attempting to sort out his muddled mind. _Dad? Googol?_

He slowly pushed his body up to a sitting position. _Ouch, that hurt. _His head fell limply to his chest as he struggled to pull in the pain and make sense of what had happened. It was dark now, the crescent moon giving the ground a light golden hue. He looked around to see his shotgun lying stone cold at his side, his backpack still clutched tightly against his shoulder. _Where was Dad? _Sudden memory flooded him, and he twisted abruptly, sharp pain permeating his stomach, as he looked across the cold dirt to where he had last seen his father.

His eyes fell to John Winchester's mauled body, slumped unconscious against a tree; the blood oozing slowly from his shoulder and draining to the ground.

"DAD!" _He had to help his Dad._

He slowly reached his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out his pin light and shinning it around. _Why was his hand's shaking so badly?_ He struggled to get his feet beneath him, wayward hand falling to the ground and gripping tightly to the grass. _What was his deal? _His body felt kind of tingly, as if he was somehow disconnected from it. A loud ringing echoed in his ears. _He had to get up, get to his Dad._

He frowned, momentarily realizing he had closed his eyes, and still hadn't moved. Once again he pushed upward from the ground.

_Holy crap…owwwww….owwwww…where was this sharp pain coming from, did the Googol get him too? _His trembling fingers moved down to tug the zipper on his jacket, he eyes gazing down at his tee shirt. The pin light shook harder in his fingers, bouncing up and down across his body. He blinked to clear his fuzzy vision. Then he saw it, the large smear of red that had soaked into his grey shirt, looking almost scary in the wavering light. _What the hell? What was that? Blood? Where did that come from? Did the Googol get him too? _He shut his eyes to ease the dizziness that was assaulting him. _He didn't remember getting hurt? _

He let his fingers ghost across the dampness, not sure what was wrong, or where the blood was coming from. He reached his hand into his backpack, balled up his blue hoodie, and pressed it against his stomach. The sharp pain made him gasp for air. _Suck it up, help Dad. _He slowly zipped his jacket back up, leaving the balled up hoodie clumped against the wetness, hoping it would staunch the blood from where ever it was coming from.

Once again he pressed to his feet, this time succeeding as he stumbled toward his father. He fell against his kneecaps in an uncontrolled tumble next to his Dad. He gasped with the movement, vision blurring John's features in front of him. _He would just take second here, to get himself back together. _He leaned his forehead against the ground, the rolled it slowly to rest against his Dad's shoulder. _One minute, then he'd take care of Dad_.

-o-

Dean's head jumped around on his shoulder, suddenly bobbing down against his chest. Abruptly it whipped back up and he opened his eyes. He blinked, several times, glaring through the windshield. He heard the cackle of laughter next to him and he looked sleepily over at Caleb.

"Dude, that was so funny. You just nodded off; your head flopping around like a fish." Caleb laughed loudly, finding his own joke very amusing.

Dean snorted, shimming to set up straighter against the cloth seat of the Ford. He rolled his eyes at Caleb and whipped his cell phone from his pocket. "Where are we?" He asked tiredly.

"Bout 60 miles this side of the Tennessee border. Where are your Dad and Sammy? Maybe they need some help burning that Googol." Caleb shrugged as he watched Dean punch the speed dial and hold the cell phone to his ear.

"Not sure, I'll ask Sammy."

-o-

Sam stirred. _What was that ringing? No, he didn't want to wake up. He was comfy right here, resting against this pillow._ But the ringing continued. He drug open his sluggish eyelids, and blinked one long time. _Where was he? _He stared up at the stars, the dark sky, and the orange half moon above him. _He was cold_. Realization hit him like a wave, and he moved his head slowly to the side to look at his Dad. _John Winchester was still unconscious. _The phone rolled to voice mail, and then momentarily it started ringing again. _Dean? _He struggled to find the cell in his coat pocket, his fingers not wanting to cooperate. Finally, his weak hand gripped it tightly and tugged it from its hiding place. _Why was he so tired?_ His vision wavered as he moved his finger up to push at the buttons, light headedness, and shortness of breath, assaulting his senses.

"Hey Sam, where are you and Dad, Caleb and I thought we'd come that way." Dean's cheery tone wafted through the cell.

Silence…

"Sammy? Can you hear me, dude, you there?" Dean glanced down at his cell phone checking to see if he had good reception. _Five bars, no problem there. _He then tugged it back to his ear.

"Sam?" What the shit dude, answer me." His chest slowly clinched up, his heart thudding loudly as he listened, hearing a low, wheezing breathe that permeated through the phone in the darkness. _Son of a bitch…Something was wrong!_

Dean's expression, and words, gave Caleb cause for concern. He moved his alarmed face toward Dean as he weaved the truck off to the side of the road and flung it into park. _What the hell was going on?_

"Okay, Sam….SAM...are you there? SAM?" Dean yelled. His eyes growing wide with fear. He sat stock still, and waited, ears picking up on a light shuffling noise on the phone line. Then, he heard it, the low whisper he had been listening for.

"De'n?" A soft murmur.

"Yeah kiddo, it's me. You okay? Where's Dad?"

Caleb's eyebrows arched up in confusion, his breath stilling in his suddenly tight throat as he looked apprehensively at Dean.

"Dad…he's ri...right here." Sam stuttered. "Googol…"

Dean recognized confusion and fear in his little brother's voice. _Something was seriously wrong here. _He pushed his hand against the passenger door, and slipped to his boots in the cool night, leaning cockeyed, his free hand gripping the doorframe fiercely.

"Sam, are you guys okay?" Concern ebbed deep in Dean's voice.

"N…No….Dad h…hurt."

_Dad may be hurt, but Sam didn't sound too damn okay either. He sounds confused, disoriented and shocky. _Dean's apprehension peaked, as little dots of sweat appeared against his forehead, grimace dashing across his face.

"Dean, what's going on?" Caleb asked as he slid across the front seat to sit on the edge, strong grip resting on Dean's shoulder.

Dean's hand flung up, eyes imploring his friend to hold on for a minute. He tugged in a long breathe and reigned in his concern, attempting to get this situation under control.

Caleb nodded, crossing his arms, face fixed on the younger hunter.

"Sammy, are you hurt?"

"I…I'm 'K…"

_God, his brother sounded five years old._

"Okay Sammy, where are you…what are the coordinates?" Dean asked softly.

"You…c'mg? Okay….okay…Good….'cause I'm really ti...tired, D…D'n."

"What are the coordinates, Sammy? Remember -Dad's coordinates?" Dean spoke sternly, hoping Sam would answer a direct order. "Give them to me Sammy."

Sam shuffled against the ground, his body feeling completely numb with cold. He shivered and focused on Dean's voice.

"Dad…Dad…I can't get Dad to wake up, Dean?" The sound of grief tempered slowly into Sam's tone.

"I know….Shhhh…sh….sh…little brother. It will be fine, just tell me where you are," Dean coddled, "and I will come."

A warm comforting feeling eased across Sam's weary body with Dean's words. He sighed. _Dean would fix this_ .

"Ummmmm….35 degrees north, 94 degrees so…south." Sam blurted giddily, a small giggle rolling from his lips. "D…D…dad thought me…I wasn't lis...listening, but...but I w…was."

Dean smiled. "Good job, good job Sammy. You stay right there with Dad. Okay, right there. We are on our way."

"'K…." Sam offered, "I'm really t...tired, D'n."

Dean nodded for Caleb to slide over and he slammed the truck door closed. The engine flaring to a fast rumble as Caleb made a U-turn and headed back the way they had come.

Dean's hand muffled against the cell phone, "Coordinates - 35 at 94, outside of Murfreesboro."

"Sam, stay on the phone….stay a wake little brother, talk to me. SAM?"

Sam's head lolled over against his dad, his bleary hazel eyes gradually falling closed. He could hear his brother somewhere way off in the distance as the cell phone fell closed from his fingers, and tumbled to the ground as soft nothingness took a hold.

-o-

John Winchester tugged his shoulder slightly as a throbbing pain woke him up. He moved sluggishly away from the heavy object that seemed to be propped up against him, his arm stuck beneath it. _What? Move my arm? _

He lurched open his unfocused eyelids, blinking up at the velvety blackness above him. _Where was he? _

He pushed to sit up, and felt a sudden movement beside him as his youngest son toppled to the ground in a mass of hair and limbs from his shoulder. _Sammy?_ He older hunter blinked multiple times to clear his vision as he took in the stillness of his son's pale face. _Oh God_ !

His Dad instincts kicked into full gear, adrenaline pulsing immediately through his senses. He moved his bloody shoulder, a tight grimace dancing across his features as he glanced from Sam's still body to his own mangled one. _Googol… Bearwalker...shit..._ His head throbbed ruthlessly as he leaned down to check his boy. His fingers ghosted against Sam's wrist, feeling a light thudding at his pulse point. A slight relief washed over him and he pulled in a steadying breathe.

_Why was Sam unconscious? _His eyes washed over his son's long body, no apparent injuries. He reached his shaking fingers down and patted his boy gently on the cheek.

"Sammy?"

Sam's features crunched up in a scowl as he felt a gruff hand pat against his face.

"SAMMY?"

The patting grew more intense, a stern voice making its way through his foggy head.

"Stop it," Sam mumbled, his face contorting into a frown.

"OPEN YOUR EYES." John's voice ordered against Sam's ear.

And Sam obeyed, his eyes moving sluggishly to half mast as he glared up at his dad.

"You okay buddy?" John's fingers tugged through Sam's wayward locks, his eyes looking intently as his baby.

"Yes…," Sam swallowed harshly, as another wave of pain wafted across his stomach, "N…n...no."

John looked confused, and bent down closer to Sam's slowly lolling head. "What is it son?"

Sam just looked disoriented and dazed orbs up at him, blinking ever so slowly.

_Sam's eyes looked dilated. Shock. He's going into shock! Shit! But where is the injury, not on his head, his arms and legs look okay. _

John's eyes scanned his youngest from head to toe. Suddenly, he noticed the puffy look of Sam's jacket, and he hastily unzipped the article, a huge wheeze of air escaping his lips. _Holy shit…blood. _He gripped at the dripping hoodie, realizing it was limp with Sam's blood, and a chill went down his spine.

John immediately tugged the garment to the side, eyes growing wide as he saw the blood that was oozing across his son's tee shirt, covering the top of his jeans, and pooling on his stomach. With shaking fingers he retched up the saturated material of the tee shirt and tugged it slowly upward towards Sam's chest. His youngest let out a slight moan at the movement and his hands flailed around attempting top push his father's hands away.

"St…op…hhhurts." Sam mewed as tiny beads of perspiration began to appear on his forehead.

Then John saw it, fear gripping a hold of him as his whole world spun immediately out of control. _Oh God…Oh my God_ .

The small bullet hole pulsed, blood oozing with every beat of Sam's heart.

John's head swam with the thought, the only thought. _Sam had been shot. Oh God…No Googol or Bearwalker did this. Oh God!_

11


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes you Listen, but you don't Hear

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: Kokoda2007 – Writing is easier with a great beta-and I have one!! **

**Note to Readers: ** Thank you to all my dedicated fan fiction friends, lovers of reading and writing, and where the imagination takes us. I appreciate you more than you will ever know. Please remember, my stories are my imagination running wild, it is only make believe, so never take it too seriously.

**Chapter 4**

**Gambling with Hope**

John's brow furrowed, his head pounded from the impact he'd had with the tree, his mind raced with realization of what had happened. His breathe came out in little spurts of air. _The Bear walker. No... Googol…Bear walker. How many times had he discharged his weapon? _ He shook his head trying to reel in his thoughts. _ What difference did it make how many times he'd shot? One of the bullets, his bullet, had hit his boy._

Observing Sam's body going into shock, John gingerly tugged off his own jacket, the pain from his torn shoulder ligaments momentarily making him gasp. _Suck it up._ He tenderly covered his shivering son. His fingers tugged the jacket up around Sam's chin, shaky hands patting it in place. Sam's eyes were at half mast, confused hazels staring up at him.

John grabbed up the balled up hoodie, gently applying pressure to his boy's stomach, holding the material steady with one strong hand. Low comforting words rolled off his tongue as the distraught father was lost in the devastating moment. He had to staunch the blood flow, and ease his son's suffering, or his baby boy was going to die.

He needed to pull himself together, Sam needed help.

-o-

John Winchester may not ever be up for the father of the year award, and he knew that, he also knew he was sometimes the worst parent ever. He had spent the last 14 ½ years trying to do the right thing by his boys. When his wife had died, his entire world had spiraled totally out of control. If it hadn't been for the wide eyed four year old that hugged him every day, or the tiny baby that depended totally on him for everything; he would have never gotten past it, never moved forward. But he had struggled through every day, got out of bed, fed his boys, gave them baths, lived and breathed for them, while he wondered aimlessly in a grief riddled fog. He survived because of them, his boys, his son's, Mary's babies. They had been the only thing that pulled him from the darkness. Although the hunt for his wife's killer had slowly become all consuming, Dean and Sam had been his salvation, his guideposts, and the only things that made his life worth living.

John new he had never been one to reveal his emotions, teachings from the master, he thought. His own father had been just like him, kept his feelings neatly stowed away. So, John had counted on Mary to be the affectionate parent, the demonstrative one, to bestow love, comfort, and understanding on his sons. He wasn't supposed to have to do that part, and he had been lost everyday without her there to help him. He hated it, because he knew he didn't say I love you nearly enough to his children. Now, he wondered if his sons' even know he cared.

-o-

Sam whimpered as John held the clumped up fabric against his stomach, the teenager's eyes wide and glassy, low whimper easing from his throat.

"Easy….easy….it's okay Sammy, you're gonna be fine."

"D'n?" Sam whispered, desperately gazing around the darkness.

John stared helplessly, little lines of worry etching slowly across his face. _Sam needed his big brother. _His boy's body was shaking excessively, beads of a cold sweat gathering on his forehead. His young face far too pale and clammy; John knew the signs of shock, and was helpless as it took an unrelenting hold on his son.

"Easy…easy…Sammy, it's going to be okay….Shhhhh."

"Wh'rsD'n?" Sam mumbled, a slight frown flitting across his face.

"Shhhhhh….."

"Dad?" Sam murmured in confusion.

"Right here, buddy."

John's voice was calm, his hands gentle and caring in their ministrations. He slowly pulled his youngest up to lean against him; tugging Sammy's lolling head to his chest, placing his stubbly chin against Sam's chestnut hair and resting it there. The smell of jasmine and flowers assaulted his senses. _Aw Sammy, you and your girlie shampoo. _

The tender, red, ripped skin of the hunters shoulder throbbed intensely, blood oozing slowly through the torn fabric. The added pressure from Sam's head made the wound ache, but the sight of his youngest made his heart ache even more. John closed his eyes and willed himself through the pain. _Oh God, how did this happen?_ The blood from his tattered wounds clotted loosely against his flannel shirt; the sticky wetness from his head snaked down the side of his cheek, falling in little drops to the ground. But still, he was unaware of anything, his mind focused on one thing. _Sammy_. The worried father sat cradling his youngest against him. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears as he blinked down at his boy…_He had done this….Oh God…..When did things get so freaking messed up?_

Time seemed to stop for John Winchester. He struggled to assemble his disoriented thoughts and figure out what he needed to do, how to help, how was he gong to get Sam and himself out of this one? The tired hunter gulped in mind clearing breathes of air, when his muddled thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a low ring. _What was that? _

He clinched his jaw at the unexpected loud noise that waved through the darkness. _What? Phone? _He shrugged in amazement._ Had Sam brought his phone with him on the hunt? _ He didn't know whether to be mad or ecstatically happy with his boy for disobeying a direct order. He recalled his words, _Leave your phone in the car Sam; it distracts you from the hunt._

His eyes darted around the foliage, dirt, and grass in the darkness. The low beams from the moon, his only light. _God, he could have already called 911, if only he had known Sam had his phone. _ He spotted the cell as it rang incessantly, resting just beneath Sam's right leg. He harshly grabbed it up, flipped it open, and pushed it against his throbbing head.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice crashed urgently through the cell phone.

"DEAN?" John abruptly answered, the soldier coming back in full form. His military instincts kicked back in, and he realized he needed to stay in control and get his youngest to safety.

Dean's heart thumped wildly in his chest, as he heard his father's voice. His eyes squinted in the velvety blackness. _ Where were they? _ He stood stoically next to Caleb; both men staring past the Impala, up and over the trees, and through the never ending foliage and dark.

"DAD," Dean's voice was pleading with emotion. "We're here, Caleb and I, where are you guys?"

"Two miles straight ahead of the Impala," John stated in a strong authoritative tone.

"Dean, it…it wasn't a Googol. It was a Bear Walker." John said exasperatedly, "It was bad….I should have known….." His voice trailed off to a low whisper.

"Shit, where's Sam?" Dean asked; alarm and anguish blending in his tone.

"He's right here, with me." John said softly, "Dean….Son…he's hurt bad.

Dean heard a shaky sigh through the cell phone.

"Call 911, and bring the first aid kit," John gave a direct order.

Dean gasped, "Sam's hurt?" _Oh God, I knew something was wrong with Sam…hurt bad….No…Not Sam._

"DEAN" John said sternly, reeling his oldest son back in, "Dean….that's an order."

Dean immediately sucked in a ragged breathe, tugging together his worried thoughts. _Sam, help Sam._

"Yes sir. We're on our way." Dean said mechanically, like he had done his entire life. He pushed back any signs of emotions, stored them neatly away, and did exactly as he was told, the cell phone still clutched tightly to his ear.

"**Call 911**." Dean yelled at Caleb as he moved to the back of the Ford truck.

Dean retrieved Caleb's first aide kit. Then, he moved to the Impala, and took his father's kit from the trunk. "Yes, Dad, I got them both."

"Christ." Caleb mumbled; cell phone hovering on his own ear.

"**Accident**….yes, Highway **78**…yes, **at mile marker 28**…yes, yes, it's woods, **yes**, we're off the roadway….**Yes**, yes…please **hurry**."

Dean ran past Caleb, flinging a first aid kit at his friend.

Caleb flipped shut his cell phone, and whispered urgently. "They're on the way, said it'd be 45 minutes to get here."

"Dad, they are on their way….Dad?" Dean's face fell.

The connection was gone.

"Sweet Jesus, I lost him." Dean cried, anguish evident with his words.

"It'll be okay, Dean." Caleb gasped as he ran toe to toe with the younger hunter, into the undergrowth, following the path he carved.

Dean's feet flew beneath him, running as hard as his legs would carry him. Not sure where he was going, but knowing his Dad and little brother were somewhere out there, and in dire need of help, he sprinted in the general direction his dad had indicated – gambling with little more than hope and chance at his side.

-o-

John dropped the cell phone to the grass, the connection lost. He pulled his callused fingers through Sam's chestnut hair. His gruff voice whispered in the silence, "Its okay Sammy, help is coming. Just hang on baby, hang on."

-o-

Dean's flashlight bounced across the ground, his head whipping to and fro with the motion. His legs were running, stumbling as he went. Tree limbs and branches whipped against his skin, cutting and clawing at his face, but he paid no heed. His actions were precise and made with manic determination. He gulped in air as he felt the flailing movements of Caleb behind him, doing the exact same thing he was, both men searching, eyes scanning the darkness, as they ran, relentlessly.

Dean skidded to a stop, eyes blazing in the darkness. Caleb bumped against his friend as his feet stumbled then stopped abruptly next to him.

"DAD?" Dean screeched loudly, his finger ghosting over the quick dial on the cell phone. His head cocked, ears listening for any sound that would be his father's voice booming through the phone, or yelling in the darkness.

"What was that noise?" Caleb asked curiously.

Both hunters stood stock still, waiting, straining to hear in the silence.

"Dean…." A low voice carried across the cool night air, to meet insistent ears.

"JOHN?" Caleb shouted, eyes darting to Dean as he gave a satisfied nod of his head.

"OVER HERE!" John yelled.

Wild feet thudded haphazardly across the damp grass; rocks, and debris flying loosely around them.

"Keep yelling John…so we can find you." Caleb shrieked loudly as he ran.

Moments later, Dean's eyes grew wide, as he slid on his boots down the hillside. His flashlight flailed up and down against John's blood covered face and shoulder, to land on Sammy's pale face.

"Dad?" John's eldest whispered with concern as he slammed to his knees right next to Sam's prone form. His inquisitive eyes looked intently at his little brother and he gasped, then, gazed quickly to his Dad.

John's head tilted up, red rimmed lids staring blankly at Dean and Caleb, grief written all over his face.

"What happened?" Dean asked with concern. His fingers tenderly brushing Sam's damp bangs away from his clammy forehead.

"I shot him." John whispered in reply.

**  
Review please- tell me what you think!! **

**Denise**

11


	5. Chapter 5

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: Kokoda2007 – Excellence in every word.**

**Chapter 5**

**The Face of Despair**

"**NO…** " the heated word ripped from Dean's lips, fury rolling over him like a wave.

His hands clutched into tight fists, his entire body quivering as he fought against the reality of the situation, mesmerized face fixing on his brother.

_Dad shot Sammy? _

He glared angrily at his father.

_What the hell? _

Shock and disbelief welled up in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He stared in stunned distrust at the man cradling his limp brother. His angry features softened as he looked intently at the unhinged figure in front of him, his distraught Dad, clutching frantically at Sammy.

_He couldn't breathe….No, No, No!_

A cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck as his senses went into overdrive, dizziness threatening to take him under, black dots dancing in his vision, as reality took a hold

_His Dad had shot his baby brother…this couldn't be happening._

The grief of the entire situation seemed to be overwhelming his father completely, as he heard him murmur once again, "I shot my boy."

Dean's eyes rested on his Dad. The air around him seemed to be sucked away and he struggled to gulp it down. He swallowed convulsively. The darkness slowly receded, his eyes focusing closely on his father's face. He noticed the bright red blood that was running a slow trail down the gruff cheek and dripping steadily against his Dad's mangled shirt. The bruised and torn skin beneath the shirt looked painful as the oldest hunter sat completely still, his youngest son cuddled to his chest. One large hand held a bloody ball of fabric pressed tightly to the boy's stomach, the other, rubbed soft circles in his hair.

Dean was stunned into submission, and fear. He had seen a lot of different expressions on his Dad's face, but this one, he had not seen since he was four years old. It was one of complete and utter despair, and it scared the shit out of him.

This was not the John Winchester that he knew; the man he grew up with. This was his Dad, in the throws of grief, a man he remembered from long ago. He had never expected, nor had he wanted, to see this John Winchester again.

-o-

A stern hand push Dean backwards, until his butt sat with a hard thud on the dirty ground next to Sam.

"Breathe Dean." Caleb's concerned voice floated in his ear. "Just breathe."

Dean's head rose, tear filled lids gazing up at his friend. His wide eyes spoke volumes, imploring him to do something.

-o-

Caleb Reeves was taken aback; this situation had suddenly spiraled way out of control. His eyes took in the pale teenager cuddled against John's large body, the blood loss obviously taking a toll on the boy. He looked stunned eyes at the older hunter, his mentor, who suddenly looked exceptional fragile and lost. He glanced back over at Dean, his best friend, and studied his distraught features momentarily. _Okay, somebody had to take charge of this situation, right now! _

"John," Caleb leaned down into John's face. "We have to help Sam. One of us needs to get back to the road, so they can find us. John, do you hear me? John?"

The father's head rose from his young son's pale face; perplexed features looking from Caleb to Dean. He blinked slowly, then, pressed a light kiss to Sammy's forehead, his large hand pulling gently through the chestnut hair.

"I'm so sorry….Sammy." He whispered.

Dean reached his hand over and clutched his father's elbow, a look of uncertainty and panic, adorning his face.

John's misty eyes gazed at Dean, taking in the confused, perplexed stare from his oldest. He remembered that face from a long time ago, a four year old, a fire. _Okay, get it together._

"I'm fixing this," he said firmly.

With those words, the disparaging father was gone from the equation, the hardcore hunter kicking back in full control.

"Boys, give me your tee shirts." John's hands motioned at Dean and Caleb, fingers wiggling frantically in the air for their white tees. "I need to make a compress for Sam's wound."

Both young hunters did as instructed, their guns, coats, and outer shirts falling quickly to the ground. They removed their white tee shirts and dropped them next to John, then shimmed abruptly back into their garments.

Dean watched as John tossed the balled up hoodie to the bushes and moved Sam's blood soaked shirt up. His eyes fixated on the pooling blood, and the small puncture wound he could see bubbling with Sam's heartbeat.

"Dean, hold your brother."

Dean eased over next to his father, behind Sam, gentle hands encircling the kid and pulling him to his chest. He was rewarded when hazel eyes suddenly fluttered open, looking incoherently at him.

"Dean --?" Sam's voice was soft, and Dean strained forward to hear it.

"Yeah, it's me kiddo."

Sam flinched and moaned lightly as John pressed the makeshift bandage against his tender skin. He slowly pulled his hand up and clutched weekly at Dean's shirt, balling the fabric in his shaky fingers.

Shhhh, it's okay….shhhhh." Dean cooed, his tone low and filled with emotion.

"Dean, hold this." John ordered as he relinquished his grasp on the new bandage against Sam's stomach, hand leading Dean's fingers down to apply pressure.

The hunter stood to his full height, and nodded at Caleb. "You stay here with them, keep your gun ready - - that damn bear walker is still around. I'm going back to the road, flagging down the paramedics and getting them back here."

"John, I can do it." Caleb offered, not wanting the father to have to leave his injured son.

"NO", John barked harshly.

Caleb's brow furrowed.

"No, please….I need to…I have to do this."

Dean's head rose to stare at his Dad.

"It's dark… I can find my way back quicker than you." Johns eyes were pleadingly bright, "You…you…stay here with Dean."

"Okay, okay, don't worry, I'll stay right here." Caleb nodded, gun tugging roughly up to rest on his side.

"Dean, take care of your brother." John spouted and then disappeared into the dark.

-o-

Caleb stood solemnly, eyes fixed on the darkness around them, then back to Dean and Sam. The flashlights lie against Dean's thigh, beams skidding across the grass around them.

Sam blinked. "Dean?"

Dean squeezed the kid's shoulder, "Hey….Just take it easy."

Sam heard the worry in his big brother's voice.

"What 'appened?"

The words made Dean's heart thud, and he struggled to stay in control. _Dad shot you! _ He bit back the retort.

"You we're shot…remember?" He whispered into Sam's hair.

"N...N...No" Sam stammered out, voice doubtful, confused.

The injured boy relinquished his hold on Dean's shirt and moved to push himself up. A sharp pain immediately made its way across his mid section.

"Ump…" Sam whimpered, and fell loosely back against his big brother, wide eyed and perplexed. _He was shot? _

Dean's hands tightened, pulling Sam snuggly back against his body, his little brother's head lolling to the side to rest in the nook of his neck, just above his shoulder.

"Whoa, Sammy…you're bleeding. Take it easy." Dean said firm, but softly.

Caleb leaned down, bright eyes right in Sam's face. "Sam, your brother can't cuddle with you if you keep moving around." The hunter grinned.

Sam smiled. "De…are you cud'ln with me?"

Dean chuckled and smirked at Caleb. No words were needed to convey the appreciation he felt at that moment.

"No Sam, men don't cuddle, they bond."

Sam giggled, then, winced at the motion, his eyebrows pulling together, his face contorting up into pain.

"Guh…De'n….it hurts." Sam gasped; his voice raspy and weak.

Large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks as he struggled against the pain. He pulled in a ragged breath, feeling the small tremors running through his body.

Dean held on tighter, clutching his injured sibling closely to his chest, blinking back his own tears. He watched as his brother's lashes slowly fluttered closed, his body falling back limply against him, succumbing to unconsciousness once again.

-o-

John Winchester's feet thudded harshly on the ground, his breath rolling out of him in large gasps. The deep pain that radiated across his shoulder and chest, the harsh pounding in his head, were nothing as he ran numbly through the woods. He chewed excessively on his lip, struggling with his body to hold the scream that was building at bay. _He needed to stay in control here, get help for his boy. _ His mind flitted back to what had happened earlier, the Bear Walker, the gun shots, and waking up to find his baby boy, bleeding out against him. It has been a long time since he had been totally overwhelmed, lost, so out of control. He had forgotten how empty grief was. He had not felt it since Mary. _God, Mary, I can't lose our boy. _ He shuddered, and ran faster.

-o-

Caleb's head tilted to the side, "You hear that?"

Dean's ears strained, his eyes looking huge as he stared over at Caleb.

"What?" he whispered, as a twig snapped in the darkness.

**Okay- shorter chapter, but great place to have a cliffy!! Review are welcome and needed to keep me focused – Denise-**

10


	6. Chapter 6

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: Kokoda2007 – Amazing what someone else can help you with. Thanks – you are the best.**

**Chapter 6**

**A Necessary Evil**

John Winchester leaned forward, body crouching down toward the ground, hands resting against his kneecaps; deprived lungs tugging in air. He pushed slowly upwards, resting his backside against the black Impala as he regained his breath. His head tilted slowly, his eyes darting from the woods to the empty two lane highway stretching out before him. He squinted, struggling to see headlights in the distance, the blackness continuing on for miles. The soundless air assaulted his senses, his ears straining intently, hoping for the echo of sirens in the night.

-o-

Caleb felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck, his body on full hunter alert. He stepped hastily in front of Dean and Sam, gun poised, as he peered into the shadows.

"See anything?" Dean whispered, concerned features scanning around the dark air, arms pulling his unconscious little brother in closer against him.

Caleb's head tilted, body focused on the rustle of bushes to the left, finger brushing lightly against the trigger.

The creature moved hastily from the undergrowth to stand on its hind legs, staring beady black eyes at the three young hunters.

Caleb gasp, then let his finger recoil from the trigger. "Freak'n raccoon, sacred the shit out of me."

Dean let out a slight chuckle as relief washed over him. He gaped, as the animal quickly dropped to four paws and skittered back among obscurity.

Sam's head moved listlessly against Dean's shoulder; the big brothers eyes snapping back down, his hand dusting lightly through the kid's hair.

"Sh….Its okay, Sammy."

Hazel eyes blinked sluggishly, dazed and glassy with pain.

Dean's chest tightened and the sick feeling returned. "Easy…easy…" he murmured. _Sam looked confused, disoriented. _

"Sam?" Dean's face inched closer to his little brother, taking in his perplexed gaze.

"Sam, come on buddy, stay with me." Dean's heart ached, his own muscles quivering with the reality of the situation.

Caleb kneeled next to Sam, his finger pressing lightly against the teenager's neck.

"He's losing too much blood." Caleb offered, his finger lingering against Sam's wrist, then ghosting against Dean's shoulder with a reassuring grip. "Keep pressure on that wound."

"Where the hell is that ambulance?" Dean said angrily, as he rocked back and forth cradling his baby brother.

-o-

John heard the wailing sound well before he actually saw the flashing lights. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he stared at the blue orb blinking brightly in the distance. He shuffled from one foot to the other; anxiety running taunt through his body, his own pain completely oblivious. _Com'on, com'on…_

-o-

Dean's head rose, his face turning slowly to the side as he narrowed his eyes, held his breathe and listened.

Caleb stiffened next to him, "I hear sirens."

"Thank god," Dean whispered. "Hear that Sammy, they're almost here, please little brother, hang on."

Half mast, dull, eyes stared blankly up at Dean.

-o-

John's arms waved frantically in the dark, his body planted firmly in the middle of the road. He watched as the ambulance came to a screeching halt inches from his frame, harsh glow from the lights bearing down on his face. He ran quickly toward the driver's door as the paramedic flung it open. The passenger door equaling the motion, as an older medic hovered against the vehicle.

"It's my son, he's been…been shot." John stuttered out as he yanked at the young medics arm, tugging him toward the trees.

"Hold on buddy…calm down. You're injured, let me see." The medic automatically moved toward John's bleeding wound.

"No…no, my boy, you got to help my boy first," John tugged away from the grasping fingers, eye imploring the man to listen.

The medic stood stock still, taking in the blood covered man's appearance. _This man was hurt…did he say his son was shot? _ His eyebrows arched to a V and glared across to his partner, they both scuffled quickly toward the back of the ambulance.

John sucked in some air, steadying his words, then voiced in a demanding tone. "He's this way. Hurry, we were hunting. I…I accidentally shot…shot him." _The truth a necessary evil sometimes. _ He swallowed convulsively, and focused on the task at hand. _Help Sammy._

_Oh crap_ . The older medic dashed a riddled look at his partner, and they quickly picked up the pace.

John watched as the uniformed men grabbed several bags and a stretcher from the ambulance, eagerly running toward him.

"Show us," the senior medic instructed loudly.

John nodded and moved swiftly toward the woods, "It's not far, maybe two clicks."

The medic recognized military leadership when he heard it. _Take care of the injured man first, then yourself_ . He nodded firmly at John. "Okay, let's go."

-o-

"DEAN?"

Dean's head shot up, he shifted impatiently as he recognized his father's voice reverberating in the cool night air.

"DEAN?" John yelled.

"OVER HERE." Dean's voice rose up loudly through the quiet night.

Caleb quickly picked up the flashlights and shined around the trees. He saw steady movement coming through the darkness in their direction. The light eased across John's large body, then fixed on the bouncing stretcher and the two blue clad men attached to it.

"Sweet Jesus." The 26 year old hunter whispered.

The next moments were a blur of uniforms, hasty movements, and silent nods between medics and hunters, as Sam was checked over, IV started, and oxygen mask placed across his pale face.

Dean stood silently next to his father, his weary head lowered as he watched the paramedics work deligently on his little brother. _How had this happened? _

Both Winchesters stepped forward and helped as the medics hoisted up his gangly limbed baby brother, easing him to the stretcher.

Dean barely noticed his Dad's large arm tugging hastily across his shoulder and briefly clutching him close.

"It'll be okay, Dean," John said softly.

The big brother watching quietly, his thoughts focused on one thing, taking care of Sam.

-o-

Dean could hear the paramedic spouting off words into a cell phone as he ran along next to the stretcher, Caleb and John hot on his heels.

"14 year old male, gunshot…upper right quadrant, excessive blood loss, shock, IV started." The young medic's voice jarred with his body, words bursting from his throat. "Transport, 45 minutes."

Dean reached for Sam's flopping hand, clutching it tightly in his own as he ran at a breakneck speed. He watched from the corner of his eye as his brother's unconscious body flailed around limply against the restraints that held him to the stretcher. _Please Sammy, you got to be okay._

The ambulance finally appeared in their view. Bodies scuffling, breaths heaving, they hurdled from the woods; faces focused forward, they stumbled toward the sterile white vehicle.

The older medic swung open the back door of the rig, clamoring inside; his hands grasping the stretcher tightly, motions quick, as he lifted Sam into the van.

Dean winced as his fingers lost contact with his brother.

The younger paramedic pushed the stretcher steadfastly forward with all his strength, hanging the IV on the hook and turning back to face the three hunters behind him. His breath wheezing, his fingers grappling for the door, he yelped, "One of you can ride with him."

John pushed his oldest forward, "He's going."

"But sir, you're hurt, you need medical attention," the medic stated matter of fact.

"But Dad…" Dean darted a quick glance at his father.

"No, you go; I'll be fine, see the bleeding has stopped." John's finger ghosted lightly over his blood crusted shirt.

"Caleb and I will follow…" he nodded firmly at Dean, "Soon."

Dean urgently moved into the ambulance, questioning look falling to his Dad.

_Did he just say_ _**'soon'** _ _? _

He took up his seat at the end of the stretcher.

_What? He's not coming _ _**'now'** _ _? _

The door of the ambulance slammed shut, before Dean could ask his father what he meant.

The emergency vehicle pulled rapidly to the roadway as John spun to stare at Caleb.

"Come on; let's get this son of a bitch."

The younger hunter's mouth fell open; a look of shear disbelief adorning his face.

"What?"

"I said; let's get this damn Bear Walker." John whispered harshly as he slowly moved away.

Caleb shook his head as he comprehended John's words. _It was going to be an even longer night. _ He could hear the ambulance escaping as the siren wailed distantly down the road. He sighed, held his shotgun tighter, and trudged back into the woods.

**Review please…thanks!**

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	7. Chapter 7

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta: Kokoda2007 - Her insight and assistance is greatly appreciated.**

**Chapter 7**

**Heart in the Right Place **

Dean's body jarred ruthlessly sideways as the Ambulance came to a sudden halt; the rear doors flinging open, cold breeze flowing quickly inside, chilling him to the bone. He shivered.

"Sir, you need to get out, NOW." A white coat clad man shouted at him, numerous doctors and nurses immediately crowding around the rear of the rig.

Dean's fingers released their tight hold on Sammy's hand, and he did as instructed, moving hastily from the vehicle, and standing stiffly to the side. His smoky hazel eyes maintained their focus on his brother as the medical personnel converged on the kid. The paramedics pulled the stretcher from the rear, multiple hands grasping at Sam as his limp body was laid against a gurney. The Doctor barked orders as a mad dash was made toward the emergency room doors. Dean was lost in the shuffle, as his heart beat wildly in his chest, his body caught up in the frenzy.

-o-

_This was crazy. _ Caleb Reeves thought to himself as he followed deligently behind the older hunter, body traipsing back into the woods. _What father, in their right mind, abandoned their injured son to hunt a damn Bear Walker? _ He shook his head unhappily, and continued his quick steps to keep up with John's long legs. _He would never understand John Winchester, he was just beyond belief. _

The older hunter's body stopped suddenly, Caleb practically running into him as he skidded to a halt.

"Hear that?" John said quietly, as he pivoted, nudging the younger hunter from his personal space.

Both men stood silently, eyes darting around the woods, ears attuned to the sounds of the night.

Several long seconds went by.

"I got nothing." Caleb looked curiously at the older man.

"Sh…" John winced.

They settled back into silence.

"Move," John suddenly yelled.

A rustling of tree limbs, bushes, and brush, and the Bear Walker was upon them.

Caleb ran, not needing to be told twice.

A large paw swooped in and threw the younger hunter to the side, his shotgun falling from fingers as his body made contact with the ground. The young man gasped. He stared up at the mammoth creature above him; ugly drooling teeth growling down, so close the putrid breath blew harshly against his face. Large hairy paws lunged for him again, and his arms swung up to cover his face. _Where was John?_

The sound of the lone gunshot permeated the darkness, the large creature staggering backwards, as screeching moans wailed through the night.

Caleb watched, wide eyed, arms easing hastily from his face, body heaving in gulps of air. He spider walked backwards through the damp grass, butt slamming abruptly to the ground.

The animal moved awkwardly forward as the second gunshot pierced its furry hide, right between the eyes, it stumbled, its large, hairy torso falling with a dull thud against the dirt.

John was at Caleb's side in a moment, gentle hand reaching down and grasping at his forearm, tugging his young prodigy up.

"You okay? Caleb?"

The young man blinked, "I…I think so." He nodded slowly. _Nothing hurt, no blood, yeah, yeah, I'm good._

"God damn thing almost got your ass, when I say move, I mean **move** ." John spouted off angrily, as he released his grip and stood.

Caleb pulled himself up on shaky legs, eyes falling back to the dead Bear Walker. John reached down, picked up the hunters shotgun and handed it back to the man.

"You sure you're okay?" He said gruffly, concern wafting through his tone.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Caleb shuffled, head raised to look his mentor in the eye, "and **thanks** ."

"It was nothing." John's frowned deeply. "I had to kill that damn thing…I just couldn't leave it out here, to hurt someone…not after…after…" The father swallowed tightly, his voice ebbing away to nothing.

Caleb watched the guilt, fear, and anger that flashed across his old friends face, and he suddenly understood. _John Winchester was a man who loved his children fiercely, and would die trying to protect them. He realized there was no way John was letting that Bear Walker live to hurt anyone else, not after what had happened to Sam. The man's priorities were flawed, but his heart was in the right place. _

-o-

Dean hated hospitals. His knee bounced nervously up and down, boot tapping out a staccato rhythm loudly against the linoleum. He sat stoically, staring across the empty waiting room, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His anger was intense and overwhelming, as his thoughts raced around in his head. _What the hell had happened? How the hell had he ended up here, by himself, waiting for word on Sam? _

He lowered his head and tried to stop the rapid feelings that were encroaching on his mind. _It had been a long day. _ _Was it still the weekend?_ He recalled his unhappy little brother, begging not to go on the hunt, for some reason that still evaded Dean. _What was that all about?_ He tugged his tired hand through his sandy hair, fingers coming to rest back against forehead, rubbing unconsciously. He glared at a scuff mark on the floor. _He wished he had pushed a little harder, made his father give in and let Sam stay home. _ _His little brother wouldn't be lying in a hospital; if he had backed him up. _

He was tugged from his thoughts, when size 10 shoes appeared at the edge of his vision. He quickly raised eyes, face darting to the green scrubbed doctor that now stood in front of him.

"Family of Samuel Wincer?" The older doctor asked.

Dean pushed clumsily to stand, but the physician nodded for him to stay seated and slid into the chair next to him.

"I'm Doctor Mayer; I've been looking after Samuel."

"Sam." Dean corrected. "How's my brother?"

"We need to take Sam to surgery, to get the bullet out. We did and x-rays and it looks like it may have nicked his kidney on impact. It's lodged against his spine."

Dean's body quivered unconsciously, panic gripping at his chest. The doctor's words made his vision blur, his breath coming in rapid gasps. _Sammy had to be okay._

"Calm down," the doctor instructed. "Breathe slower. In and out."

He felt a warm hand on the back of his neck as his head was forced forward between his knees. They both sat quietly for a long moment, letting the words soak in.

Slowly, Dean pushed to set straight up, the doctor's hand releasing him gradually as he blinked away the blackness in his peripheral vision and looked directly in the older mans face.

"So, will he be okay?" Dean whispered.

"He's lost a lot of blood; we've given him 3 pints. I can't…I just can't say." The doctor stood, eyes gazing at the distraught young man in front of him. "He's young, and strong," he stated, sympathetic eyes gazing at Dean. "You can rest assured, I will do my best."

With those words, he was gone, the emergency doors swinging in his wake.

Dean leaned his elbows against his kneecaps, his palms pushing against his bloodshot eyes as he struggled for control. His weary body slumped forward, shoulders heaving slightly, as unbridled tears rolled silently down his face.

-o-

"We ain't burn'n the damn thing, just leave it here." John's voice boomed in the blackness. He turned anxiously, and moved at a fast pace through the looming darkness.

Caleb stumbled along behind him, eyes focused on John's retreating back.

"Move your ass, Caleb, let's get to my boy."

**Readers: I cannot believe I ever thought this was a one shot, what was a smoking? This story just keeps on going, amazing. Thank you for reading and reviewing it. Denise**

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	8. Chapter 8

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

By supernaturaldh

Beta: Kokoda2007 – as always, you rock!

Readers: Thank you to everyone for reading this story. I am amazed at the wonderful reviews. I am trying to keep up on my responses, but if I missed you, know that I appreciate you more than words can say.

**Chapter 8**

**Automatic Response**

The midnight black Impala roared into the parking lot of the dingy gray hospital with a screeching halt; the driver's door swinging open with a loud reverberating crack. The tall man moved unrestrained toward the emergency doors, blood spattered across his hairline, dark crimson decorating his flannel shirt.

The distraught father was oblivious, his feet engaging before his mind even thought. He ran. He heard, his friend, Caleb's boots clicking against the pavement as the younger hunter struggled to keep up.

"John, wait up." Caleb's voice echoed behind him against the barren parking lot.

He couldn't stop; his heart was racing, a loud ringing assaulting his ears. He pushed on, his body now on automatic response. _He had to know if his youngest was alive_ . His large hands nudged the emergency doors with excessive strength, metal meeting wood, as the doors swung out announcing his imminent presence. The stench of antiseptics burned his nostrils, his breathing rapid and short, as anxiety took a tight grip on his emotions. His eyes darted from the dark haired nurse behind the counter to the empty waiting room. _Where was Dean? _ His bloodshot orbs searched, and darted, finally coming to rest on his distraught 18 year old son, sitting alone, in the corner. He felt fingers grabbing at his arm, but he yanked harshly away, kept moving, eyes focused on Dean.

"Sir….do you need help?" The young nurse behind the registration desk said urgently, wide eyes giving the blood covered man the once over as she hurried around the counter. "**We need some help out here** ." She yelled loudly over her shoulder, fingers reaching to grasp at John's arm.

-o-

Dean heard the thudding footfalls before he recognized the man, his head darting up quickly, his eyes glaring as he approached. The sandy haired hunter was immediately stunned by the wayward and bloody appearance of John Winchester. _He hadn't realized how badly his father had been hurt. _ He pushed instantaneously to his feet, arms reaching out to grab a hold of the injured hunter, John's body continuing on its forward ascent long after his legs had stopped their motion.

"Dad?" Dean's features furrowed; face a mass of confusion, gripping tightly to his Dad's bulky arms. His hands manhandled John to a chair, the hunters butt slamming to the cushion in a whirl of movement.

Dean dropped to one knee, eyes peering intently into his father's face, hand flailing at the nurse and doctor to keep their distance. He heard Caleb's familiar voice reverberate around the room, "Give them a minute."

The room quieted, John's unsteady breathing the only sound.

"Dad?"

"Is Sammy okay?"

"He's in surgery." Dean's hand moved securely to rest against John's back. He felt his father's body slump beneath his fingers, adrenaline rush obviously leaving his tired limbs.

"Thank god." John's managed to say.

"Let's get you looked at, okay, Dad? Okay?" Dean nodded, fingers moving to grip at John's shoulder, waiting for his father to cave in and accept assistance.

John sighed loudly.

"I shot him," he confessed, his misty eyes looking directly at his oldest. "I just…I can't believe, I shot my boy."

"It was an accident, Dad." Dean offered reassuringly, his anger at John quickly dissipating as he saw guilt and remorse flash across the hunter's face.

Caleb eased forward to stand beside Dean; he stared down at the distraught father and nodded in agreement.

John smiled sadly at them both, his shaky hand tugging through his blood matted hair. _Okay, let it go…suck it up. Get over it._

"Yeah," John said halfheartedly as he tugged in shaky breath.

Dean wasn't sure if his father was agreeing that the shooting was an accident, or that he would allow someone to help him; either way, his Dad had just shut down, his stern military face moving unexpectedly back into place, his emotions hidden totally behind the mask he always wore.

-o-

It has been three hours since Sammy had been taken to surgery, and one hour since John Winchester had made his less than gracious entrance into the emergency room. Once he relented, the older hunter was hustled in to triage, butterfly bandage pressed to his forehead, and 26 stitches applied to his mangled shoulder. He was offered a shot for pain, which he immediately declined, and was shuffled back out through the swinging doors. The oldest hunter felt like he was ninety years old as he moved stiffly back across the waiting room, sliding his aching body down in the chair between Caleb and Dean.

"Any word on Sammy?"

"No," Dean muttered. "You okay?" he asked hesitantly, green eyes giving his father the once over.

"I'll live." John voiced as he struggled to find a tolerable position in the uncomfortable chair.

"How bout some coffee?" Caleb offered.

Both Winchester grinned across at their friend and fellow hunter.

Caleb smiled and nodded, "I'll go get the good stuff." He moved smoothly toward the exit, his hand waving as he shuffled hastily into the predawn light.

-o-

Dean awoke with a start, his body fumbling to stay seated in the chair. His eyes attempted to focus around the room. _Shit, he fell asleep. _ He blinked hard, as he stared at the two uniform clad officers now questioning his father over by the emergency entranceway. John's head leaned in; giving the officer's his utmost attention.

The young hunter sat silently, listening as his father weaved an amazing story of hunting a fox in the dark, getting separated, and Sammy accidentally getting shot. Tears welled in John's eyelids exactly on cue. _His Dad was good, he'd give him that. _ He watched with fascination as the uniformed officers took notes, eyes veering over to him as his father mentioned Caleb and him by name. Dean nodded at them, but made no move to get up, figuring if the officers had questions, they would come to him. He was amazed when both policemen smiled, offered their sympathy, one of them grasping John by the hand, giving it a long hard shake, and then, they were gone.

John moved silently back toward Dean, shirtsleeve brushing lightly against his tear dampened cheeks, as he plopped tiredly down to sit by his son.

"Good job, they bought that hook, line and sinker." Dean said with a smirk. He watched as his father seemed to submerge into himself, nodding sullenly, as he folded his arms across his chest. His tired body leaned stiffly back in the chair as glazed over eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him. _Maybe it wasn't just an act?_

"Dad, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." John said softly.

-o-

Sometime, just after sun up, the gray haired doctor moved reluctantly across the waiting room, eyes seeking out the three rag tag hunters who were slumped in the corner. He piercing blue eyes gazed upon them, as they scrambled to attention; their faces imploring him for words of comfort and hope. He swallowed down the knot that sat awkwardly in his throat. _This was the part of the job he hated. _

"Family of Sam Wincer?" he nodded, as the three men stood stiffly to their feet, the sandy haired man gripping tightly at the older man's elbow, eyes staring wide with fear.

"Yes," John said sternly, fingers reaching up and latching on to the hand that pressed against his arm.

"I'm sorry sir…"

_**Am I mean or what? So sorry for this little cliffy, but I couldn't help myself. – Denise-** _

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	9. Chapter 9

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Big Thanks to my awesome beta: Kokoda2007**

**Chapter 9**

**Beneath the Veil of Darkness**

"I'm so sorry sir, but your son, he is in a coma. His condition is critical." Dr. Mayer's blunt words reverberated, settling like a heavy weight around the empty room.

The grey haired doctor hesitated, letting the magnitude of his words soak through the weary men. His tired face watched as the stunned father stood unmoving, unfaltering gaze resting harshly to his face.

The doctor stared to the younger man, presumably a family friend. He watched as the guy moaned lightly, shaky fingers clutching at his brow.

But, it was the sandy haired older brother; that the physician was most concerned about. He watched with worried eyes as the young man's knees buckled from the words. _It was a grim prognosis._ The kid's body slumped slowly toward the linoleum in a mass of arms and legs. If it hadn't been for his father's quick actions, and a strong and steady grasp, the young man would have face planted right against the dirty floor.

"It'll be okay, Dean." The drained father whispered as he tugged his eldest to the chair. His distraught face turned to look intently back at Dr. Mayer. "Will my youngest," his voice hitched, "will he make it?"

"We got the bullet out, but he had excessive blood loss during surgery. We had to give him 2 pints on the table". The surgeon said seriously.

"The bullet clipped his kidney, caused some internal bleeding, but we were able to get that under control, and repair the kidney. If all goes well, he will get to keep the organ". The older physician paused, silent as he let the group absorb his words.

"The bullet fragmented on impact, so it took us a while to remove all the pieces. Unfortunately, one portion lodged against his spine, we were able to extract it, but now, we will have to wait and see if he has any paralysis. The next 48 hours will tell."

John's hand tugged through his dirty hair, eyes squinting at the green scrubbed medic. "Can we see him?"

"Yes, I'll send the nurse out to get you when he's settled in the ICU."

The father's hand pulled up quickly, clasping the doctor's fingers in his own. "Thank you," He said firmly, "Thank you for doing what you could for my boy."

Doctor Mayer smiled faintly at the fatigued and weary man; his own child came to mind. _This just never got any easier._ Then, he turned, on silent footfalls, and exited the room.

-o-

Dean didn't know how long he sat next to his father and Caleb, dazed expression on his face. The doctor's words had sucked all the air from his lungs and he struggled just to stay in control. His emotions rushed to overcome him; and he concentrated on the simple act of breathing. _Sammy might be paralyzed...No…this can't be happening? _

-o-

"Dean?" John's stiff body leaned forward, eyes peering directly into his eldests bright green orbs. "Come on son, we can see Sammy."

Dean blinked, staring blankly at the large nurse in front of him. He felt a strong hand tug him to his feet, another comforting one resting against his back. He moved his head, looking intently from John to Caleb, a small frown resting against his lips. He could still hear the doctor's final words muted in his head, "the next 48 hours will tell"_. _ He shrugged his shoulders back, pulled in some air, and stood to his full height. _Pull it together, be strong for Sam. _

-o-

The three men nudged quietly through the doorway, the middle aged nurse nodding toward the bed. They stood quietly for several moments, minds attempting to adjust to the enormity of what they were seeing. They were motionless, breaths silent, as they observed the injured boy.

The morning sun cast an angelic hue across Sam's face, making him look far younger than his 14 years. His body was attached to various machines, and wires, as it rested beneath the sheets. The ventilator clicked out an even rhythm, giving the frail youngster the oxygen he needed for life.

It was Dean who whimpered lightly, body swift and firm with grief. He slid hastily to Sam's side, jade eyes gazing at the pastel face. He suddenly had to fight the urge to scream, to kick something, to curse the total unfairness of it all. He leaned down ever so slightly, just above Sam's unconscious face, and whispered words of comfort; fingers rubbing gently through his brothers long honey brown hair.

"Hey there kiddo," Dean whispered. His shaky fingers cupped against Sam's cheek. "Sammy, you need to wake up, now…" He cooed, as he stared intently at his baby brother's face.

John stood stoically by the ventilator, rugged hand slowly reaching down to clasp at his young son's long fingers. _He had done this…._ He shuddered lightly, chest heaving, his hand clutching tightly to his boy.

A shocked expression flashed across Caleb's face at the sight before him. He let a light gasp escape unconsciously from his lips. He quickly brought his hand up to cover his mouth, as he stared at his upset friends. His own heart was aching with just the sight of Sam.

-o-

The hunters distraught moment was quickly extinguished as the large brazen nurse reentered the room.

"Only one of you can stay." She said coldly.

John blinked hard, attempting to keep his grief at bay. "What?" he muttered angrily, his eyes blazing like ambers within a raging fire.

"I said, only one of you can stay." The nurse clipped uncaringly as she looked him tersely in the eye.

"Sorry, we aren't leaving Sammy." John voiced icily.

Dean's bloodshot orbs raised to his meet his father's. He could see the anger radiating off his Dad in waves. _If she was smart, she would let this go. _

The nurse looked flabbergasted, and she shook her annoyed head.

"Well, whatever, Dr. Mayer will have to approve it." She said cockily.

"You do whatever you have to do…but, WE ARE STAYING." John uttered loudly, his fingers yanking up a plastic chair and shoving it behind Dean's legs. "Sit." He said firmly.

The older brother did as instructed. _His Dad could be such an ass when necessary. _ A slight grin curled up to his lips.

Caleb gave the matronly lady a light shrug as she passed, his body shifting downward toward the floor. He leaned his tired limbs back uncomfortably against the white washed walls. _If she knew what was good for her, she would give it a rest._

John glared at the nurse hostilely as she exited the room; his face never faltering, his eyes fixed and bright. _He just dared her to say another thing._ He whipped his butt abruptly into the other seat.

-o-

Sam's thoughts were foggy, unfocused, and confused. He could hear a low beeping, a clicking light against his ears. Soft sounds surrounded him, voices mumbling in the dark.

"Sam, open your eyes. Come on, you've been asleep two days. Sammy?"

He heard the whispered words, and he wanted to wake up, to go to the beckoning voice, unfortunately, his body had other ideas. The darkness was still holding him hostage; hovering just beneath the veil.

-o-

The sun was rising when Dean heard it, just a whimper, nothing more. He raised his tired head from his forearms, where they rested on the bed. He had spend the past 24 ours dozing, body attuned to Sam's every breath. His looked tiredly up to Sammy, apprehension flashing across his face. _Maybe he had imagined that?_ Then he saw a flutter, Sam's long eyelashes moving lightly against his cheeks. He quickly moved to stand; face looking down and focusing keenly on his little brother's motions.

"Dad", Dean murmured.

John's head darted toward his son.

"Sammy? Wake up kiddo, come one. Let me see those eyes." The older brother said anxiously.

John shuffled to his feet immediately, fingers clutching over Sam's hand. "Sam, open your eyes." He ordered.

Caleb stood, swiping at his sleepy face. He watched with bated breath. _Come on Sammy, wake up. _

-o-

Sam smelled aftershave and leather; familiar fragrances he had known his entire life. They permeated his senses, calling him to wake. His medicated mind attempted to fight the darkness as he struggled to open his eyes. His thoughts raced as he was aware of something chocking him, holding his head against his will. All of a sudden, he whipped open his wide, unfocused eyes. His fingers flailed around immediately as he struggled to break free. _Can't breath? _ He yanked harshly at apparatus resting on his face.

"Sam, STOP." Dean's voice rebounded in his ears. He felt a multitude of strong hands press against him, holding his floundering body at bay.

"Sam, listen to me," Dean's voice was strong as it whispered in his ear. "You are on a ventilator, Sammy, don't fight it. Please it's okay. You're okay. Just breathe with it kiddo."

The struggling youth's motions faltered as his body relaxed against the bed.

"Easy, Sammy, it's okay."

"I'll get help." Caleb offered, as he scurried from the room.

John's hand held firm to his youngest, as Dean petted and consoled the struggling boy. A tidal wave of uncontrolled relief washed over the father. _At least Sam was awake. _

8


	10. Chapter 10

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Chapter 10**

**Shot Through the Dark**

Unfamiliar hands rested on him, voices he didn't recognize encouraged him to relax. His bleary eyes tugged open, gazing at the foreign faces, confusion mixed with pain. _He needed Dean, where was Dean?_

"Don't push me aside. He's my brother." A voice broke through the haze.

Familiar fingers clasped at his wrist, and concerned green orbs met his. He immediately relaxed, body slumping back loosely toward the sheets. _Dean._

White jackets hovered over him, strange faces he didn't know.

"Okay, Sam, you have to hold your breath for a minute and I'll pull out the ventilator," As distant voice assaulted his ears, "On three, Sam, one…two…"

A brief pressure and then the immediate desire to cough assaulted Sam's worn-out frame. He lifted off the bed with the urgency, rattling coughs floating from his chest. Dean's reassuring grip steadied him, as a straw met with his lips.

"Drink." He heard his Dad's voice whisper, and he did as he was told.

The cool water eased the tightness in his throat and his body slumped as the fit subsided. He felt his limbs slowly maneuvered back against the mattress, and he closed his hazy eyes. _He would just rest for a minute._

-o-

"Sam…Sam."

"What?" he garbled out through his gruff feeling throat. _Dean leave me alone, I don't want to go to school. _

"Sammy?"

Sam forced his eyelids open, glassy eyes taking in the fuzzy whiteness around him, the smell of antiseptic and sickness assaulting all his senses. _Where was he?_

"Hey you," Dean whispered, fingers grasping at his hand.

"Hey?" Sam whimpered out. "Whh…what?" He twisted his upper torso against the bedding, pain rearing its ugly head and darting harshly across his stomach. He pulled in a wheeze of air.

"Easy Sammy. You we're shot…remember?" Dean's concerned tone vibrated in his ears. _Shot, I don't remember that?_

"N...no" Sam murmured as his eyes fell slowly closed.

-o-

John Winchester stood sullenly by the coffee machine, fingers trembling as he searched for correct change in his pockets. _85 Cents, who the hell came up with that ad hoc figure for a freaking cup of java? _

He glanced down at his hand, gingerly counting the 2 quarters, 2 dimes, and 1 nickle that rested in his palm.

"Son of a b'tch".

_Did he just say that out loud?_ His eyes darted around the empty vending machine area, and he gasped in a wayward breathe. _How was he going to tell Sam what happened? _ His body shuddered as he let his flaccid hand, still clutching the odd change, drop forlornly to his side. He just stood there, staring idly at the contraption, the events of the last three days playing over and over in his head.

He didn't hear the boots clicking on the linoleum, nor notice the person who slid up to stand next to him; his thoughts were a thousand miles away.

"John?" Caleb said attentively, curious eyes resting on his mentor.

The older Winchester jumped unconsciously with his name, unfocused eyes blinking blankly at the hunter to his right.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I…I'm fine, just…just not enough change for this shit they call coffee." The older hunter stuttered out forlornly as he blinked harshly at the machine.

Caleb looked at the tired, weary face. _Were those tears he was blinking back?_

The younger hunter shuffled his hand into his pocket, tugging out a large hand full of change. He nudged John lightly out of the way as his fingers nimbly slid the correct change into the old machine.

"I got it."

Both men stood wordlessly, as the machine gurgled and spit, then a dark, murky liquid oozed into an appropriately placed Styrofoam cup.

Caleb reached down, yankink the cup up, and held the steaming brew out to John.

The oldest hunter accepted the offered cup, a slow smile curling to his lips. "Thanks."

"Let's sit." Caleb offered, concern resting on his brow. He nodded toward some oddly placed seats across the hall.

John hesitated, he needed to get back to Sam.

Both men eased their exhausted bodies down against the worn and dingy couch, the noise of the hospital humming on around them.

Caleb's left eye squinted up; his mind struggling to find the just the right words to say; finally after several minutes, he sputtered out his thoughts.

"John, you know this was **not** **your fault** …right?" He stared at the older man.

His words were rewarded with the familiar Winchester shrug.

"Listen here John; you have to let this go. It was not you're fault. It was a case of wrong place, wrong time. That's all. Do you hear me?" Caleb spouted, anger rising in his tone.

"I don't think Sammy will see it that way." John leaned down and pressed the half drank cup of coffee to the floor, tired hand tugging back up and through his wayward hair. "What if, what if… that bullet…what if… he can't walk? God, Caleb, what then? I don't think he could ever forgive me for that."

Caleb sat motionless, aghast at the broken man before him; guilt radiating off his friend like a furnace.

"John, right now, we don't know if that bullet did any damage to Sam's spine, the doctor said 'wait' and that's what we do 'wait'."

The father frowned wearily at Caleb.

"You know what John?" the younger hunter leaned forward, eyes glinting brightly at the older man.

"What?" The senior hunter said tiredly.

"You may not win the father of the year award…"

The father chortled, slight snicker rising to his lips.

"But, everyone knows you love your boys. That has never been up for debate…ever…you got me?"

"Yeah, I gotcha." John pushed to stand, hand reaching down to grasp up the now lukewarm coffee. "Caleb?" He stopped cup midway to his lips.

"Yeah?" Caleb answered as he stood and stared at John.

"Thanks...for…well…ah…just thanks." John stuttered out and then gulped down some more of the brew. "Jeeezzz, what is this shit?" he grimaced.

Caleb laughed and watched as the half drank cup of coffee was tossed into the trash.

Both men nodded, and shuffled slowly back down the hall.

-o-

Doctor Mayer entered the room in a swift motion, door swinging in his wake. He smiled at the three men who had sat a never ending vigil at the young patient's bedside.

Six sets of bloodshot eyes watched as he checked Sam's vitals.

"Sam's on some heavy meds, which is why he is drifting in and out of consciousness." Dr. Mayer offered informatively.

He scribbled on Sam's chart then tugged the dull bladed instrument from his jacket pocket. His eyes darted to the group.

The three men stood wide eyed, as the doctor uncovered Sam's bare feet, tucking the crisp white sheets tightly around his ankles.

"Okay, if he reacts to this, we know he is recovering from the bullet lodged against his spine. We expect some tingling and numbness as the tissue heals, but he should react to stimuli." The doctor offered briskly.

John's heart seemed to stop abruptly in his chest. He felt Dean move to stand next to him, his eldest hand gripping at his elbow. At that moment, he did a very un-John like motion and lifted his opposite hand to rest against his son's fingers, gripping his eldest arm tightly in a hold.

Dean's green eyes flitted to his Dad's face, a silent gesture seldom shared between them. Then both stood together, watching as the doctor did his job.

-o-

Sam drifted in a medicated sleep, knowing his family was by his side. He had woken numerous times to find Dean's face gazing at him; to feel warm fingers caressing through his hair. He had seen his father sitting silently by his bedside, two day beard adorning his rugged face. He had taken brief comforts in knowing that his Dad was there watching, helping keep him safe. He remembered seeing Caleb, when he briefly came to wake. He was happy that their friend had stuck around. So, he succumbed to the drug induced oblivion, and floated on meds. He could wake, but why bother, he was happy in the haze.

-o-

Dr. Mayer held Sam's heal in his fingers; instrument tugging lightly across Sam's left foot. He smiled as the sleeping youngster tugged lightly from his ministrations, and he breathed out a silent sigh.

"Did his knee just jerk?" Dean asked quisitively.

The doctor's broad smile met the older brother's face. "It sure did."

-o-

Dean felt his father waver slightly at the sight of Sam's jerking knee. They both watched keenly as the other foot was probed, and Sammy curled his toes, a light whimper rising from his sleeping lips.

"Stop…Deeeaan."

Sam's eyelids never opened, as his head moved to the side, alittle smile curling to his face.

"He's ticklish." Dean offered the doctor with a bright smile.

"Yes, yes he is." John beamed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

BIG THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO IS READING THIS STORY. I AM GOING TO BE OUT OF POCKET FOR ABOUT A WEEK, SO THE NEXT UPDATE MAY BE A LITTLE LONGER IN COMING. SORRY ABOUT THAT. IF YOU LIKE THIS, PLEASE REVIEW. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM EACH OF YOU. IF I HAVEN'T RESPONDED TO YOU INDIVIDUALLY- JUST KNOW I READ EVERY ONE AND APPRECIATE THEM BUNCHES...YOU GUYS ARE THE BESTEST!!

-SUPERNATURALDH-

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	11. Chapter 11

**SOMETIMES YOU LISTEN, BUT JUST YOU DON'T HEAR**

**By supernaturaldh**

**Beta Extraordinaire: Kokoda2007**

**Chapter 11**

**Proud **

John Winchester gazed down at Sam's sleeping face, large fingers tugging through the unruly mop of hair. It had been the longest week of John's life. He shuddered unconsciously; the memory of the hunt that hurt his boy still weighed heavily on his mind. _He had shot his own son. _ In fourteen years of protecting his children from the supernatural, it had been his own bullet that had almost killed his boy. He shook his head, and sucked in a weary breath, shaking off guilt was not as easy as he had originally thought.

Dean eased quietly back into the hospital room, door swinging closed in his wake.

"Caleb get off okay?" John questioned, eyes never moving from the pale face of his youngest.

"Yeah, he's gone." Dean flopped down against the plastic chair, fingers grabbing up the Guns and Ammo magazine he had read at least ten times in the last week.

It had been a traumatic week for Dean, having to stand by and watch as his little brother recovered from a bullet wound inflected by their Dad. The thought still pissed him off, but after seeing the guilt his father carried around, he knew it was just a horrific accident. He smiled at the reassurances that Caleb had offered him, helping him to stay focused on what was important…getting Sammy well. The Winchesters had few friends in their crazy life, and Dean was glad he could count on Caleb.

The older brother raised his head from the magazine, his green eyes resting on his stoic father. He knew his Dad was carrying around a truck load of guilt, but he didn't know how to help him get past it. _Sam was going to be fine, he was going home today. His father really needed to come to terms with it and just let it go. _

Sam's arms moved slowly against the white sheets, sleepy lids fluttering open. He blinked several times at the face that rested above him.

"Dad," he said questioningly, as he stared up at his father's sad eyes.

"Hey buddy, how you feeling?" John whispered, his hand falling silently to his side.

"I'm good." Sam yawned, fingers rubbing his drowsy face, concerned orbs blinking up at his Dad. "You okay?"

John smiled. _This child was such a caring, giving soul; so much like Mary. _

"I'm fine, Sammy, just fine."

"You don't look fine Dad, you look sad," the fourteen year olds honest words radiated around the room.

Dean's head rose from the magazine, listening attentively to his brother.

John shuffled away from the bed to stand at the window, face staring blankly out at the bustling street below them, grief weighing heavy on his slumped shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault Dad…" Sam whispered as he stared at his father's forlorn face.

John raised his head to gaze at his youngest son, forgiveness radiating from Sam's innocent features. _How could his boy be so forgiving, so understanding? He had SHOT him. _ He felt his boys fingers curl around his wrist, tugging gently at his arm.

"Com'on Dad, it was an accident." Sammy persisted firmly; face pleading with his father to forgive himself.

"Yeah Dad, listen to Sammy, it was an accident." Dean spoke decisively from across the room, firm agreement plastered on his face.

John's fingers grasped his youngest hand tightly as he moved back to stand by the bed; his strong arms reached around Sam, tugging him gently into a hug. His fingers caressed the nap of his boy's neck in a caring motion. He hastily pulled away to smile widely at his boys, all guilt ebbing slowly from his face. _He was a lucky man. _

-o-

The ride from the hospital to the Winchester's small rental house was uneventful, John driving the Impala, Dean turned sideways in the passenger seat, staring intently at his dozing little brother. Both men were lost in their own thoughts, obviously relieved that their youngest family member was going home. The radio stayed off, silence and Sam's quiet breathing, the only noise as the car hummed down the road.

John stared absently out the front windshield, eyes darting to the mirror to check on his son. _His boy was going to have to train harder, be more aware of what was going on around him during a hunt. _ He had been given a second chance with his youngest, and he knew it. The events of the last week had been a close call, too close; he would not let that happen again.

Dean watched as his baby brother slept, long legs curled at the knees against the leather seat, blanket clutched in his fingers just beneath his chin. Dean smiled. The occurrences of the last week had him reevaluating his relationship with Sam. Although he never spoke up when his Dad and Sam were arguing, he realized now, that was about to change. Looking out for Sam was his number one priority, and from now on, his Dad would not be putting Sammy at risk. If that meant arguing with their Dad, then so be it.

-o-

The classic car eased into the driveway of the old rental house, pulling slowly to a stop.

"You get the front door; I'll get your brother." John smiled assuredly at Dean.

"**No** , you get the door, and **I'll get my brother** ." Dean said matter of fact as he pushed the passenger door open.

John gave his eldest a quizzical look, but nodded in conformity, a smile curling to his lips. _Dean, always the definitive big brother. _

-o-

The knock on the front door pulled Dean from the television, remote setting lax against his palm. He glanced at Sam, who was almost asleep against the ratty green couch. His eyes darted to their father, who was sitting amongst a mound of research at the tiny dining room table.

John's face rose from the paperwork to gaze quizzically across the room.

"Are we expecting anyone?" He asked curiously as he looked from Dean to Sam.

Sam pushed himself up against the cushions, tugging the blanket along with him. "No sir."

"Nope." Dean nodded to his father and grabbed up his handgun, stuffing it quickly into the back of his worn blue jeans. He moved to stand in front of the couch, next to Sam.

John dropped the papers to the table, rising abruptly and moving slowly to the front door.

Another rapid knock permeated against the wood, and a high pitched voice echoed through the door and around the room.

"Yoo-hoo."

John's brow furrowed. _Who the hell is that?_ He gave Dean one last look, then wrenched the door open. His eyes dropped downward to the top of an elderly woman's head. He took a step back.

Dean's looked surprised at the neatly dressed older woman standing in front of his Dad; she was definitely a librarian or something. He relaxed and released the grip he had on his handgun as he eased down to sit on the end of the couch, hand resting on Sam's blanket covered feet.

"Hello there." The graying, older woman said to John. "I'm looking for Samuel Winchester, does he live here?"

"Mrs. Wiggins." Sam muttered eyes growing wide with disbelief.

John was taken aback. _What did this old lady want with his son? _ His face darted from the woman to Sam and back.

"Yes, I'm John Winchester, his father, is there something I can help you with?" John said sternly.

Dean looked curiously at his little brother and to the woman that had now pushed around John and stepped assuredly into their living room.

"I'm Sam's English teacher, Mrs. Wiggins," she said confidently, her eyes now scanning the sparsely furnished room. A wide smile fell to her lips when she spotted Sam. "Samuel Winchester, where have you been?" She stepped assuredly past John.

John couldn't help the smirk that rose to his lips as he was pushed aside by the abrasive older woman. He turned and watched his youngest shuffle uncomfortably against the couch cushions with the demanding teacher's words.

Sam's mouth falling open, stunned, he stared blankly at the teacher.

"Ah…ah…Sam's been sick with the flu." Dean offered suddenly seeing his little brother's distress. He stood and grinned at the woman.

"Oh, Samuel, I am so sorry. I hope you are feeling better." The teacher fumbled her hand into her large shoulder bag as all three Winchester's gaped at her, unsure of what she was doing in their living room, or what she would do next.

"I have the award." She smiled at Sam as she whipped a square of paper from her bag excitedly.

"Award?" John and Dean both said simultaneously.

Mrs. Wiggin's fingers flapped a piece of paper down in front of Sam's face, waggling it back and forth. "We were counting on you to be at the ceremony with your family…so it was a little disappointing when you didn't show up."

The matronly woman's head rose and she glared at John and Dean as she spoke.

Sam stared wide eyed at the award and Mrs. Wiggins.

Dean stifled a laugh as his father seemed to shrink back from the woman's harsh glare.

"He was sick." John muttered uncomfortably. _Okay, enough of this_ . "Thank you for bringing it by." His hand reached up and clasped the elderly lady by the elbow, subsequently escorting her toward the front door.

Mrs. Wiggin's fingers released the paper, and it fluttered to the floor.

John pushed the teacher lightly out the doorway to the porch. "Ah…Sam, I hope you feel better." She yelled as she yanked her arm from John's clasping fingers.

With those words, the door shut, leaving Mrs. Wiggins standing confusedly on the rickety front porch.

John turned to see Sam slinking down beneath the blanket, crimson red rising to his pale cheeks. He glanced over at Dean, large grin resting on his face.

Dean smiled. He reached down and grabbed up the paper from the dirty carpet, his eyes falling to the writing. He turned the paper quickly in his hand to face their father, and watched as John's face suddenly beamed. Both men grinned and then looked down to the covered fourteen year old huddled completely beneath the blanket on the couch.

John's large hand ripped the award from Dean's fingers, eyes scanning it with an interested glare.

"A writing award huh?" Dean eased down against the couch slowly, not wanting to jar his recovering little brother; his fingers tugged the blanket down to reveal Sam's embarrassed face.

His little brother rolled his eyes beneath his long bangs attempting to hide his face.

"Is that what you wanted to stay home from the hunt for?" John asked sternly, glaring down at his son.

Sam swallowed convulsively, as he looked up at his Dad.

"Yes. Sir." He whispered.

"Humph…well, you should have said that." John grinned.

Sam and Dean's mouths fell agape. They watched in amazement as John stepped hastily toward the kitchen. His large hand yanked up a magnet and stuck the award beneath it. He grinned at his boys, then, turned back to the paperwork resting on the dining room table.

Dean punched his kid brother lightly on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you kiddo."

Sam blushed, a small smile curling on his lips.

"I think he is too." Dean whispered with a nod towards their Dad, who was already completely engrossed in his research.

Sam's hazel eyes gazed across the room to the paper award, hanging askew beneath the old magnet on the tattered refrigerator. As he watched, it slipped an inch, the thin cardboard way too heavy for the tiny magnet to hold. A warm feeling washed over him. _His Dad was proud of him. _ He turned silently back to the T.V., to see Dean's bright smile glaring at him. It made him grin. He knew it was only a matter of time before the award fell to the ground; to be forgotten, discarded and left behind as the Winchester's moved on, but for one brief moment in time, he felt special.

**End!**

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